by Schow, Ryan
“A friend of mine, from Vegas. Aniela. She’s Polish.”
Netty couldn’t believe she was feeling like this right now. Jealous. When Brayden went to help Christian with the eggs, Brayden grazed his hand across Netty’s butt cheeks and flashed her a sensuous, knowing look. She let out the breath she had been holding. She could breathe again. Then he looked at Abby and there was that look in his eyes! That…she didn’t know what…that look.
What is that?
And why did she want so desperately to smack the shit out of him for it?
2
After an amazing breakfast, Christian looked at Brayden and said, “It’s time for you to get back to wherever it was you were before this.”
Abby kept eating. Like she didn’t hear or care what her father just said.
The last place Brayden was living was Netty’s apartment. But after last night, there was no way he was going home with her! Her mother would smell it on her. The sex. The guilt. The indiscretion.
“He was staying with me, but he can’t stay there anymore,” Netty said, looking right at him, girl-testing him for whatever stupid reason she thought she should test him.
He raised an eyebrow. Said exactly nothing.
In a slightly snarky tone, Netty said, “You could stay with your girlfriend in Vegas,” then she crossed her arms and glared at him.
Abby said, “He can stay with us, dad.”
“No,” Christian replied. “You and I have a past we need to put together. He’s got a summer he can still enjoy.”
Brayden said, “If I can’t stay here, and I can’t stay with you, Netty, then it’s either go back home and work with my father or go back to Vegas.”
Everyone just looked at him. No one said anything, which became super uncozy, so he said, “I’ll pack my stuff. Thank you for breakfast, Mr. Swann. Your hospitality, as always, is moving.”
Netty wanted to laugh. Sarcasm that bold was truly a charming trait.
“Aren’t you going to wash your dishes first?” Christian said, taunting the boy.
Brayden’s face glowed red as he washed his plate, put it in the dishwasher, then started on the pans and cooking utensils. Christian asked Netty if she was going to stay.
“If Brayden has to go, I need to take him back to San Francisco. The hearse is still at the hotel. Or probably in some impound yard by now.”
“Abby?” Netty said.
The girl had become a space cadet this time around. As in lost in space. Abby swiped a freckle of egg from her sleeve, stood and hugged Netty. It was a weak hug. Disappointing, really. It was like an obligation that bore very little thought. Netty went around the table and got a much better hug from Christian. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and said, “Thank you for all you did for her.”
Netty nodded while Brayden scoffed in the background. Netty held his eye and scowled while he gave her a “what gives?” kind of look. Like he didn’t do anything. Like he wasn’t ogling Abby, or telling some Polish broad how much he missed her.
“That’s what best friends are for,” Netty told Christian.
“Be good,” he told her, then he looked over his shoulder at Brayden. “You, too, playa.”
Brayden made a face, gave Christian two thumbs up, which caused the man to smirk.
To Netty, Christian said, “When she’s ready, we’ll come and get her car.”
“Thanks, Mr. Swann.”
“Call me Christian, please. And you’re welcome.”
3
On the way back to San Francisco, she and Brayden hardly said a word to each other. Finally Brayden said, “I like the way you taste. Your skin. It’s amazing.”
“Shut up,” she said.
“No, seriously. I never thought—”
“Let’s just pretend we didn’t do that last night,” she interrupted.
“Do what?” he teased.
She socked him in the shoulder, tried not to smile. His grin was infectious.
“I think before I leave, if your mother’s not there—”
“Don’t say it!”
“We should totally do it again.”
“No,” she said, humorless, looking at him like it was a one-time thing.
“You want to do it again, I can see it in your eyes. Plus, what makes you think you can do it with your first just once? That seems like such a travesty, you know?”
“Who said you’re my first?” she said.
“All the broken hymen blood on my stick last night.”
“Gross!” she said, socking him repeatedly until they swerved into another lane and almost hit some guy head-on in a lifted F-150.
“Mother nature loves stains,” Brayden chided.
Now she didn’t know what to say so they didn’t say anything for like thirty minutes. When they were parking, Brayden said, “I really did enjoy you. You took me by surprise.”
Less hostile, for some reason feeling better inside, she said, “I enjoyed you, too.”
“It would be impolite to ask you for a farewell romp, so just know that after I leave, that’s what I was hoping for.”
“You want to be with Abby,” she blurted out. It was the truth and she knew it. That’s why she felt so awkward reflecting on last night. She had been his suitable second. Not his first choice. Abby, she was his first choice.
“Yeah, but not this version of her. This version of her is, I don’t know, I don’t know what it is about her, but—”
“She’s not herself,” Netty said, finishing his sentence. “I get it.”
“Don’t let that take anything away from you, though. I totally adore you. Not because of how sexy you are, or how your kiss is heaven, but because of who you are as a person.” Looking at her he said, “Netty, you’re a really good person who also happens to be super hot.”
“Seriously,” she said, everything about her melting, “shut up.”
He took her hand in his and she let him.
It was nice.
He and Netty walked into the lobby together, rode the elevator up. Before the doors opened up, she turned and Brayden was looking at her, making those eyes.
“No.”
“Just sayin’s all.”
The sexual tension brought heat and awareness into her. “Well don’t.”
“Is your mom home?”
“I don’t know.”
They opened Netty’s front door, and much to Netty’s dismay, she was. Was I really going to do it with him again? she thought. Was I going to let him see me naked? In the light this time?
They filled Irenka in on all things Abby, then Brayden went back to the spare room to collect his things.
“You’re leaving?” Irenka asked when she saw him return with his stuff.
“Did you get that shirt I left in the closet?” Netty said, her heart pounding relentless in her chest. She was terrified her mother would see it in her eyes: the want, the need. It didn’t matter right then that he wanted Abby long before he had been with her. She wanted him now.
One more time.
“Oh,” Brayden said, “no.” He saw it in her eyes. Looking at him, she knew he knew. When he went back to her room, she followed him there, shut the door, but not all the way, then went and laid the biggest, best kiss ever on him.
He kissed her back, told her he loved her mouth, the way she kissed. He told her he would miss her and he kissed her again. Their hands found each others’ hands and their fingers intertwined.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered into his mouth during another warm kiss. There was something vulnerable and greedy in her voice, a barely restrained want, a nearly overwhelming impulse to rip off his clothes and do him right there with her mother in the other room. Netty hadn’t anticipated feeling this way. So chock full of want.
“I know.”
“Do you want to go?”
“No,” he said, “which is why I have to go.”
She kissed him again, ran her hand up the stubbled back of his head. It would be ea
sy to fall for this one, she thought. Just let herself be swallowed up in this, in him.
Outside the door, a voice cleared itself. Netty freaked out, unlocked lips, turned with fear naked in her eyes and saw her mother standing there. Everything sensuous and demanding in her fell flat with her mother’s discovery of them.
“Well, isn’t this interesting,” Irenka said. She wasn’t mad. The look on her face was surprise.
“Interesting for all of us, ma’am,” Brayden said. His face flushed red.
“I hope you left my daughter’s virtue in tact.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he lied.
When she left, Netty turned around and made that face, the one that said he had boldly lied to her mother and it was naughty enough to turn her on.
“God I want to fuck you again,” he whispered. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said, nibbling on his ear.
“I’ll call you too much.”
“Better.”
When she drove him to the Fairmont and found his hearse parked, but ticketed, she dropped him off. He kissed her one last time, then he went.
On the way home, she cried. And then she sobbed. And then she told herself losing her virginity to Brayden was the biggest mistake she’d ever made. Yet it wasn’t. She really liked him.
The truth was, this whole thing with Brayden made no sense at all.
Nothing made sense.
Sumptuous Stranger
1
The way it was looking, Margaret was going to emerge from stasis earlier than expected, and she would wake up alone. The attending doctor checked the readings but, looking at her body, he wondered if they were right.
Strange, he thought.
For the next hour he monitored her activity. Then, from her many orifices in meaty drips and bloody rivulets, came the reddish-brown slough off of old muscle and tissue. The amounts increased rapidly to a heavy discharge. Eyes bled in thin runs of red; her nostrils leaked in streams. A cloudy crimson discharge bloomed in varying amounts from her mouth, her anus, her vagina.
The body hung, suspended in the liquid solution as these fibrous rivers flowed. Bits and pieces of her old self drifted down and settled into the bottom of the tank. A centimeter. Half an inch. A full inch of what could be a dusting of red snow in amber water. Two inches. Three.
Then it stopped. The body’s faucet turned off.
Slowly the canister’s internal filtering system cleared the red debris from the tank. Within an hour the amber solution would be clean. By tomorrow, Margaret Van Duyn, the new version of her, would be ready to come out.
The doctor called Christian, relayed the news.
“How is this possible?” Christian asked.
“She’s transforming at an unusually rapid rate. It’s not unusual for the length of these types of events to fluctuate in time. It is surprising, however, that it would fluctuate by two days.”
“She had a tremendous amount of plastic surgery over the years, could that have some effect?” Christian asked.
“Possibly. The breakdown and release of non-organic materials would speed the process, but that’s not a proven event.”
“Do you think something’s wrong?” Christian asked, concern seeping into his voice.
“Not necessarily. When she’s ready, I’ll run the bevy of tests. Regarding cognitive functioning and the elements of her personality, those will be the waking tests, but I don’t expect her to have issues.”
“Have there been…complications in the past? Problems linked to these kinds of transformational time fluctuations?” Christian asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. Not that they would be conclusive of anything. Everyone’s different.”
The doctor heard his client’s breathing relax. “I’ll catch a return flight as soon as I can. I expect to arrive sometime tomorrow evening.”
“Very well,” the doctor said. “Safe travels.”
He went back to monitoring Margaret’s process. When he was done with her, he gobbled down a plate of potato pancakes with sour cream and caviar—a comfort meal his mother often prepared when he was young—and then he made his rounds, checking on the fifteen other patients currently in stasis.
2
The next morning, the doctor checked on Margaret first. In the amber waters, from what he could see, she looked radiant. Everything about her appeared softer, firmer, more smooth. He was pleased with the sight of her. She was finished soon, too soon. That’s why lingering in the back of his mind were more than a few minor concerns. Things he needed to check and re-check. Just to be certain.
He swung the tank to a horizontal position, started the draining process. He then washed her body off with a special solution, and injected her with a serum that would lessen the drowsiness she would feel upon waking.
She rose without stress.
She simply blinked her eyes a few times, then found him. He smiled at her. She searched the room for Christian, who wasn’t there.
“Where’s my husband?” she said, her voice sort of spongy, almost like she had an air bubble in her throat.
“I’m afraid he had to attend to a family matter. You are early, my dear. By a good two days.”
Her face made the look of worry, which had the same physical effect that worry would have on a twenty-year old. In other words, her wrinkles were gone. Margaret Van Duyn did not have the features of her old self, nor did she have the age. She looked barely thirty. No, not even thirty.
With her light Hispanic features, those full lips and a gently curved yoga body, she was infinitely beautiful.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, the bubble in her throat gone. Her voice was enchanting, quite lovely. “Is something wrong with Abby?”
Christian had confided in the doctor, as they were old acquaintances from his Atticus Van Duyn days. Abby had been killed, yet she was immune to death. Knowing Dr. Wolfgang Gerhard, a.k.a. Dr. Green, a.k.a. Josef Mengele, Christian’s daughter’s ability to not die of natural causes did not come as a surprise to him. Her ability to survive multiple gunshots to the head and heart, however, was surprising.
Giving her a reassuring look, but telling her nothing, he said, “I was just about to call Christian. If you’d like, I’m sure you’ll want to see your new face and body.”
She smiled, and it was gorgeous. Straight white teeth. A model’s smile. Rarely was he effected by the work he did, for beauty seemed to lose its luster when all you ever saw were rich people turned into perfect human specimens. On a scale of one to ten, the new Margaret Van Duyn was a twelve. The combination of models and attributes Atticus—rather Christian—chose, was pure genius. He knew she would look good, he just didn’t know she would look this good.
“Judging by the look on your face, doctor,” Margaret said, “the results of my transformation are pleasing?”
For the first time in a very, very long time, the doctor found himself smiling a genuine smile. It left him feeling a lightness he hadn’t experienced in years. “You are a wonderful surprise,” he said, his German accent stronger than usual. Unguarded. “Your husband, Christian, when he advised you on the choice of models, when the two of you made your genetic decisions…I couldn’t dream the combination could create something…as majestic as you. So yes, I am pleased.”
Margaret’s face made the slightest look of concern.
“You are remarkable, Ms. Van Duyn. I assure you, simply remarkable.”
Finally, he saw excitement in her. He took her hand, raised her out of the container, walked her into the bathroom where she stood naked in front of the mirror and looked herself over.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. Her eyes flooded with tears. In the mirror, she studied her face. The doctor knew she would be looking for crow’s feet around her eyes, gaping pores on her nose, age spots around her cheek bones and laugh lines around her mouth. She didn’t find any. Her eyes went to her breasts, which weren’t huge but weren’t small either. A
conservative B cup. They were perky for their size with tight, brown nipples. She ran her hands over them, sighed like it was the most amazing feeling ever.
“Incredible,” she said.
The doctor watched her eyes drift down the mirror’s reflection to her stomach. She bent forward slightly, watched closely beneath her belly button for the gathering of skin. Women who had kids were always cursing the creping of their skin, but after their transformation, they never saw it again.
“I blamed my daughter for so many years for the flaws in my body. I despised her for what she had done to me. But it wasn’t her fault. The choice to have a child was mine and Atticus’s, not hers. I blamed her anyway.”
“It’s a common response to the body’s natural changes,” the doctor said, softly. “You can let go of that burden now.”
“Yes,” she responded. Then she turned and looked at her ass. The biggest sigh of relief escaped her, followed by the sexiest grin ever.
Yes, he thought, your butt is gorgeous. Curvy in the hips and rounded in all the right places, not a single dimple or dent in sight.
Turning back around, she looked at her vagina. This was the time when he would usually leave, but he could not help himself. She was mesmerizing. To be able to gaze upon a woman of such beauty, to share that first sight with her, it was a delicacy he could not resist.
“I trust you are satisfied with your results?” he said.
She felt her outer vagina lips with her fingers, then she peeled them back and looked inside. She drew a shaky breath. He drew one with her.
“Giving birth turned this thing into a farmer’s market of tired roast beef. It wasn’t tight and I’ve had problems getting wet lately.”
“All those ails are gone,” he said, his face ripened with the bright blush of lust. It had been such a long time since he felt anything for anyone.
Unlike all the other women who looked at themselves down there, she slipped one finger inside herself, then pulled it out quickly and said a prayer of thanks.
“I am no longer me,” she said. The way she said it, he wasn’t sure how to take her. It was like she was whispering to someone not in the room. Someone not alive.
